Oh Bob (Zimmerman aka Dylan)

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OH BOB (ZIMMERMAN aka DYLAN)! YOU’RE JUST A SHADOW OF YOUR FORMER SELF! I remember buying your album, “The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan” in 1963 as a fragile teenager and it woke my poetic soul and filled me with heartfelt passion for truth, peace and life. Why don’t you go down to that slaughterhouse of the world, euphemistically known as The White House, and play your masterpiece from that album, “Masters of War” (lyrics below), to the present murderous occupants (who received a Nobel Prize like you, for nothing)? Then use your great wealth to fly across to Sweden and visit the Saab Dynamics Corporation in Karlskoga (where most of the world’s battlefield weapons are made) and play it with passion to the board of directors, not for entertainment in concert circuses like you usually do but to sear consciences with its laser-like lyrics and tear down walls round hardened hearts. Then see if they would still give you a Nobel Prize!

Come you masters of war
You that build the big guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks

You that never done nothin’
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it’s your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain

You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you sit back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
While the young people’s blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

You’ve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain’t worth the blood
That runs in your veins

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I’m young
You might say I’m unlearned
But there’s one thing I know
Though I’m younger than you
That even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good?
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could?
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die
And your death’ll come soon
I will follow your casket
By the pale afternoon
And I’ll watch while you’re lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I’ll stand o’er your grave
‘Til I’m sure that you’re dead

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